


A Holiday From Real

by braindelete



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Gen, Sick Tony, Steve is real tired of your shit Tony, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, tony stark raps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braindelete/pseuds/braindelete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark drags Steve Rogers on a trip to Amsterdam, where Steve gains a little more insight to his teammate. Also, Tony raps. I'm not joking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Holiday From Real

The thing Tony Stark loved most about having a multi-billion dollar fortune at his disposal was the gift of never finding himself without entertainment.

Boredom was easily alleviated with the wave of a wad of cash, or the scan of a credit card almost as fast as he could think up a plan. Sometimes, he didn’t even need a plan because he would just make a split-second decision while doing something mundane.

Amsterdam had been one of those snap decisions. He’d been standing in his lavish bathroom, while last night’s conquests cleansed in the large orgy ready shower, as he shaved the day's worth of stubble off his cheeks. He glanced at himself over himself in the large mirror above his sink, rather curiously; a bit gaunt with sickness and a little paler today than usual.

Tony had noticed that chemo was already starting to cost him his body hair, as chunks of chest fuzz had been coming off into his loofah. So Tony was doing what any self-respecting genius would do: he was shaving it off himself.

“What are you doing?” The model with the Australian accent asked.

The razor ran smoothly over his armpit, taking a mess of hair and cream with it.

“I’m going for the Michael Phelps look, darling.” he smirked, rinsing the razor under the steady stream of the sink.

***********************************

 

Steve sat on the private jet to Amsterdam, balancing a champagne glass dangerously close to the edge of tipping over as he took in the view of being 30 thousand feet high. Tony was on the wrong side of sober, but it didn’t matter. This was a little vacation.

“American sex, Rogers...” he’d been saying, “has nothing on the Dutch. Once you’ve been through the Red Light District, Rogers, you’ll forget all about our Wasp and whatever missionary position you were boring her to death with.”

Steve Rogers hadn’t been listening to most of what Stark was saying. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was doing there. While Stark rattled on about the wonders of the Dutch prostitutes and how he was almost out of champagne, Steve studiously kept his gaze out the window.

If Steve was honest with himself, he knew why he was here and that reason was Jan.

Jan was with Hank. Again.

“I’m going to Amsterdam to have Dutch darlings break the humdrum routine of prudish American women. You can join me to take your mind off our lovely Janet for say… a weekend. If you don’t want the sex you could settle for the ganja.”

Steve wasn’t sure why he agreed to go. He didn’t know what ganja was but Tony had a way of getting what he wanted. Stark had his mind set on Steve’s company so any protests from Captain America would have fallen on deaf ears. He ended up on the plane, more out of curiosity at Stark’s behavior, than any interest in the Dutch ladies or the “ganja”.

“Drink, Rogers.” Stark commanded.

Steve looked at him, momentarily pulled away from his own thoughts as the a champagne flute was shoved into his hand. “What?”

Tony gave him a lazy smile due mostly to his blood alcohol content. Or was it his alcohol blood content? Steve would never understand how Stark could drink that much and not be hugging the toilet like some overzealous frat boy.

“I said 'drink'. We have eleven hours to The Netherlands. We’ve only been up here for three and I’m not going to be the only one enjoying myself.” Stark laughed.

“What is ganja?” Steve asked, frowning.

Tony was busy sucking down the remaining champagne in the flute.

“You know… reefer, hash, the wacky tobacky, pot, roach…” Tony filled the flute again. “Marijuana.”

“Wait a minute…”

Tony looked at him with one of his inebriated smiles, halting his pouring mid-flow, tilting the bottle up so that none of the contents were wasted on a spill.

“It’s legal? You can just… have it?”

“Of course you can, Captain. Just like prostitutes and liquor. Amsterdam is the land of plenty!”

****************************

Stark was sprawled out on the bed in his hotel room in the courtesy cashmere robe , and working on what Steve would have guessed was his eighth bottle of champagne. Steve realized it was futile to try and count how many glasses of it Tony had knocked back on the plane, and had willed himself to sleep the rest of the way to the Netherlands. He had been awoken softly by the perky flight attendant and a car - limo rather-had taken them to the hotel. Unsurprisingly, they had the largest suite in the hotel, with more than one bedroom of course, and Tony had taken the large bed.

“I’m going to name it,” he announced when Steve was distracted by the view.

Steve turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry?”

Tony looked over at him. “I’m naming it.”

Steve wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He turned fully from facing toward the window, looking out at the landscape of Amsterdam at night. The lights of the city as their reflections bled onto the river that Tony had called Keizersgracht, his large arms crossed over his board chest. Tony's face was shadowed by the single lamp that lit the room beside the bed, his eyes unreadable in the muted light.

From Tony's side, he was only slightly turned on by the stern look he was receiving. But of course, Rogers was no sissy boy.

“What are you naming?”

Tony pointed his fingers like a gun as he placed the end of is forefinger at his temple making a clicking noise with the tip of his tongue against his hard palate. Steve found himself amused by the action when the action alerted him to Tony’s intent.

“You’re going to name your tumor,” Rogers confirmed.

“An arbitrary title. Something elegant and refined yet completely unnecessary. Something it’s not worthy of. Lord Viscount Bumblefuck the third… Esquire.”

“Lord Viscou—? All right Stark, I think you’ve had enough.” Steve said with slight annoyance.

He moved beside the bed to take the bottle of champagne from Tony's reach. If he was drunk enough to start naming his terminal ailment, it was time to cut him off.

Tony hadn’t heard his reply. He’d already fallen asleep from the combination of alcohol and his various medications. It was the wee hours of the morning in the Netherlands and Steve felt pretty tired himself, but he closed the curtains before going to his bedroom. He’d talk to Stark more in the morning, when he likely would have forgotten the name he’d just given his tumor.

*****************************

The sound of muffled giggles cut across the silence in the living room as Steve stirred to awareness in his hotel bed.

From the other side of the room- the bedroom door he'd neglected to close the night before - framed the following scene : Stark in the robe he'd likely slept in, on his own bed, with a blonde in a rumpled hotel uniform. His fingers were wrapped around the curls of hair as his lips and tongue lazily worked the crook in between her neck and shoulder, her uniform falling off as he did. Tony's other hand was bracing the small of her back as she arched into his kisses and her head tilted to the side.

Rogers smelled the food before he moved from the bed, so it was clear she was the room service staff.

He made his way toward the neglected tray and peeked in to see what Stark had ordered for breakfast, pausing at the spectacle that greeted him. The young woman was topless, sitting astride on Tony's lap, her body shuddering with her laughter; Stark having worked her out of the top of her uniform and her bra, as he nuzzled her breasts. Steve turned his back, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the scene. If Tony was going to undress her he could at least have the curiosity to shut the door. He cleared his throat.

The girl giggled, her voice a Dutch lilt. "Oh good morning..."

"Morning, ma'am." came Steve's curt reply.

"Care to join us Rogers? Yashna... Yashna right?" The girl must have nodded in response to him, because Steve did not hear the affirmative. "Yashna was just telling me about all the wonders her country has to offer for the tourist. The Anne Frank House, the Van Gogh Museum... you know, cultural things of that sort..."

"How about you put her top back on before you invite me in, either that or shut the door if you're going to continue?" Steve replied bitingly.

Tony tossed Steve a quizzical look. He wasn't used to being scrutinized or even... judged so directly for his lifestyle. It was something he knew he'd have to get used to if he was going to continue company with the insane moral compass that was Steve Rogers.

"Touchy touchy, Captain. Come now, darling... we don't want the Captain to be uncomfortable... we'll continue this another time. Do you work tomorrow?"

**************************

They'd wondered around Dam Square and looked at the damn National Monument for far longer than Tony had liked to. He knew the reason they'd been there so long was Steve's desire to pay his respects to the fallen soldiers of World War II and all of that, but Tony's attentions had been elsewhere. He'd wanted to follow a group of coeds that flirted as they passed him in a gaggle of short skirts and tight shirts across their young, firm breasts. He wanted to take up the gorgeous ginger haired tour guide on her offer to buy him a round.

However, he'd stayed with Steve and looked at the big white structure in the square. Fair was fair, though. For putting up with this well behaved as he was, Captain America was going to have to humor Tony.

"Absinthe." he declared with an air of triumph.

"Absinthe." Steve repeated, fighting the urge to condemn.

Tony smiled in a way that almost made Steve worry. He wasn't sure it was a good thing or a bad thing, the mischief in the other man's blue eyes. Steve was going to bank on it being a negative... at least for his sensibilities.

"Well... perhaps we'll find a couple of dates first, some pretty young women who are interested in teaching us poor American schmucks how the Europeans get frisky." Tony rattled on as they walked down the street from away from the square. "And then we take them to a nice little bar or club or whatever for some Netherlands techno dance mix version of Flo Rida's Low..."

"What are you talking about?" Steve questioned.

"Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur..." Tony quoted, and continued the rap when met with Steve's continued confusion. "The whole club was lookin' at her. She hit the floor, next thing you know shawty got low low-- no? Forget it then."

Tony continued on his mission, not wavered by Steve's disinterest in his quest. Steve followed, more irritated than reluctant. He was regretting every moment of agreeing to follow Tony on this ridiculous trip. He wanted to go back to the United States, back to his element, to his country. Steve had had his fill of Tony's behavior and devil-may-care attitude toward women, and alcohol... he could only pray that Tony had forgotten about the marijuana.

When they arrived in front of an odd little café, he learned the answer. Tony Stark had not forgotten about the marijuana.

**********************

Steve watched as Tony was fed a brownie by a French tourist, who sat on her knees beside Stark, her short dark curls bouncing as she laughed. The quartet were in a well cushioned booth with low tables, the low lighting of the room capturing the flecks of gold in the girl's hair. Steve was convinced that the girl had already been high when she and her friend had joined them. Her friend - another lovely brunette with a ponytail - sat beside Steve trying to get him to partake in the sweets.

He declined but obliged in feeding her a piece, so not to be rude.

For the life of him, Steve could not imagine a day being Tony Stark. The man seemed nonchalant about everything.

He was carefree and thoughtless about actions as he existed in a world he created for himself. Tony used little effort to charm women to his beck and call, blatantly flaunted sexual advances, behavior and closeness with the bravado of a modern Casanova. He seemed to have little thought of consequences as he constantly lived in the moment, letting the world cater to his desires regardless of whether or not it had other plans. It was a world Steve was unfamiliar with; the uninhibited lifestyles of the rich and famous in the ilk of the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts, if the newspapers he read could be believed.

Tony had been easily subdued by the hash brownies.

*************************

Tony felt awful. The last thing he needed right now was to get sick.

He stumbled from the bedroom. He emptied the contents of his stomach quickly into the toilet before grabbing the trash can before returning to the bedroom. Tony set it down, resumed his place in the bed, blankets pulled tightly around his body to fight off the chills. He had to get sick now, in Amsterdam while he was supposed to be having a sexual extravaganza and not curled up in a pathetic ball. He was at least thankful not to be shedding any more hair. That would be even more unfortunate.

Steve must have heard him vomiting, as he leaned against the door jamb with a bit of concern etched on his tired features.

"Are you alright, Stark?" he asked softly.

Tony waved a hand as he pulled the blankets tighter. "I'll be tip top in the morning, have no fear. What time is it anyway?"

Steve regarded the beside clock.

"4 am."

Tony nodded and tried to push away the feeling of nausea climbing back up toward his throat. He didn't want to vomit again, especially not with Captain America standing in the door way of the hotel bedroom watching him with that look of pity. He couldn't take the indignity. He opened one eye to see if he was still being watched. When he saw Steve, he laughed a bit, hoping it didn't sound painful as if felt through his raw, dry throat.

"It's okay to... relax you know." Steve offered cautiously.

"I'll be fine in the morning. Don't worry about me. I won't die today, GI Joe."

As soon as Steve was out of sight- if not earshot- Tony leaned over the bed and vomited into the waste basket. It wasn't fair, he wasn't even taking any treatments at the moment because he was trying to enjoy Amsterdam. He wanted to just go right back to sleep, ignoring the wretched taste in his mouth. Tony relaxed into the mattress and closed his eyes.

************************

It was somewhat surprising that Stark was in the shower before Steve woke up again. He wasn't sure if Tony was showering out of necessity or because he was still feeling under the weather. Deciding it was better not to wait, he ordered up the food from the room service of the hotel. Tony had pre-planned the menu to arrive when they called but Steve added ginger ale and dry toast, a remedy he remembered his mother using when he'd been sick as a child. He wasn't sure if Stark would appreciate the gesture, but it had been there nonetheless.

Steve started reading The New York Times while he worked through his own breakfast: sausage and eggs with toast. Just like home. He sipped at freshly squeezed orange juice as he looked around the room. In this quiet moment, he was finding a comfort now in the lifestyle Stark had. It was becoming more familiar and easier to swallow.

Tony came from the bathroom, back in the robe.

"Ah, food. Fantastic. And I see you're already immersed in The Times. Well bra--" He looked at the food and then back at Steve. "Ginger Ale? Oh thank you mother."

"For your stomach." Steve replied, as if Tony didn't know.

Tony couldn't help but be slightly touched by Steve's gesture. Since Jarvis had unfortunately passed on, due to a bullet in the brain, he'd been relatively self sufficient. Having someone looking out for his best interests again was sort of nice, even if it was just passing obligation. If only Thor hadn't been called to Asgard... he'd be down for the trance music and the Dutch divas. He'd even partake in the Absinthe. If Thor could stomach his Asgardian Mead, the Absinthe would be nothing.

Tony would party with Thor another time.

"I'm fine now, just as I said I'd be. No use crying over spilt milk and all that." He smirked and covered his toast with jam to prove his point. "I think there will definitely be trance music in our future. But that will be tonight... what should we do today? I was thinking we could--"

Steve interrupted. "If you're not feeling well, we should probably not go out. You should rest. I don't mind."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't need to rest. I'm fine. A little vomit never killed anyone, unless of course you choked on it."

Steve wasn't amused. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his large arms over his broad chest, looking at Stark rather sternly. Tony swallowed some of the ginger ale and met the other man's blue eyes, some of his humor clouding over with the somber mood. Steve wanted seriousness in this conversation, so Tony would take just a moment to do so.

"I want to enjoy my time, Steve. I want to go out and experience all this town has to offer, all its famed wonders because it might be the last chance I have. I've got Lord Viscount Bumblefuck the Third... Esquire up there just ticking away like a bomb, ready to kill me whenever he deems it necessary, the bastard. Well I'm not going to just wait for it to happen. I'm not. I've never been a wait and see type. I'm not going to start in relation to illness or death."

Steve watched Tony a moment as the man went from light hearted flippancy to arguing his point like the business man he was back in New York.

"Now if we're finished dwelling on this morose subject of death... I think today we're going to the Venustempel."

Steve frowned. "What's the Venustempel?"

Tony replied with a sly grin. "I'm not telling you. I don't want you to protest my fun."

The final word on the matter was punctuated by Tony's retreat back to the bedroom to change into clothing. Steve watched him go, setting down the paper, he couldn't help but see Tony in a new light. There was a bit more... respect for him than there had been before this trip. He could understand where Stark was coming from, with his need to continue on despite the looming doom over his head. He could respect the way the man wasn't going to give in and hide from the world until the final moments of his life. Perhaps, as morally ambiguous as his actions tended to be, Steve could appreciate that lifestyle was Stark's way of keeping his life from extinguishing too soon.

This trip had been a good thing, Steve resigned, not only for Tony but for himself. He could now see Tony as a little more than a teammate, maybe even more like a friend.

His thoughts were interrupted by Tony's return.

"To the Venustempel!"


End file.
